


The Demon Grandma and The Unregistered Prophet

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: a dream i had, dean/cas - Freeform, myself as a hunter, spoilers for season nine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I suffer from tinnitus, which is the perception of sound within the human ear (ringing of the ears) when no actual sound is present. It gets bad sometimes and can cause migraines, but my sister likes to cheer my up by joking that angels are just trying to talk to me. So I had a dream that night where apparantly my grandma was being possessed by a demon and was trying to kill me because I was an "Unregistered Prophet." I could hear the true voice and see the true form of angels and demons, and I couldn't die by the hands of anything supernatural. Throughout the dream, I managed to hook up Dean and Cas (yes!) and I got to run around with Team Free Will!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon Grandma and The Unregistered Prophet

I was at my grandmother’s house for my cousin’s high school graduation. The hot, humid Iowa air clung to my skin as I sat on the baby-blue painted porch steps, watching the fireflies lazily flit in and out of focus. I never liked my grandmother’s house. She always hosted the parties, and my mother always made us go. I couldn’t stand the constant chattering of the adults and their thin conversations and the high squeals of children zooming through every room. I was more of the pessimistic introvert type.  
My sisters liked to socialize. My older, sixteen-year-old sister, Candace, liked to hang around the graduate boys and puff out her chest, flutter her eyelids, and goggle at all the free testosterone. I wasn’t into boys, as many of the other fourteen-year-old girls at my school were. I wasn't into girls, either. I guess I wasn't into anybody? My little eleven-year-old sister, Millie, was putting worms in the mini sandwiches and frog eggs in the soda. She always had a posse of kids giggling behind her. Anywhere she went she was automatically leader and every kid wanted to be a part of the action. I was jealous of her activism.  
I would usually bring a book to these kinds of parties, but my mother wanted me to be social and talk to people for this one, so I left my books in the hotel. That was a rather large mistake, I totally could have hidden one in my jacked or something. I finally couldn’t take enough of everything and went outside to get away from it all and think. I liked thinking almost as much as I liked books, because it meant you didn’t have to talk to other people, and I could go anywhere I wanted. I could be anyone I wanted. That sounds corny, but we were in Iowa, after all.  
Okay, sorry about that pun. Back to my story.  
The hazy Iowa sun was barely peeking out from behind the dry trees in my grandmother’s unnaturally organized neighborhood. These trees were cracked and brown, not like the crisp evergreen ones back home in Seattle. The pines and firs were always a welcoming green, and were always wet. I didn’t like the dryness of the Iowa trees. It was going to be a long, painful month in Cedar Rapids, I could tell that when I couldn't smell the damp pines I was used to.  
My mother was making us stay for much longer than any of us would have liked. Mother would always drone on and on theatrically about how much she missed her old home, and was only too glad to be back. So at the party she kept awkwardly stroking the wood panels of the door frames and dramatically gazing out the window. She studied theatre in college but, much to everyone's surprise, she never made it on Broadway. My father was out getting drunk with my uncles. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t mind not remembering any of this.  
My grandmother tried to be a good hostess, and with her hair like the misty bottom of a waterfall, she would bob along through her house with a kind, wrinkly smile and a plate of her signature sugar cookies.(I dont know where the "signature" part came from, but all of her old lady friends called them that.) I didn’t much like her cookies; it made me feel that my grandmother was trying too hard to impress everybody, with extra cinnamon and powdered sugar sprinkled over each individual doily. She always worried what anyone thought of her. Except for me; I had a feeling she didn’t like me much. Or just didn’t trust me. She never tried to impress me, but I was okay with that. She creeped me out, anyway. In that weird old-person way.  
But that night at the party she kept watching me from underneath her tuft of wispy hair, as if she expected me to set something on fire with just a touch of my hands. I didn’t look back at the stout, seashell-pink house when I was out on the porch, but I could feel her monitoring me from behind the windows. It made me feel strange; she never paid this much attention to me before. She used to be perfectly content with doting after my other sisters and forgetting I was there altogether.  
I was perched with my elbows on my knees, staring out into the world and missing my room when I heard footsteps. They sounded as if the heavy boots were running. I slowly stood up on the second step of the porch stairs and strained me ears to listen. My tinnitus – a constant, loud, and highly annoying ringing in my ears of which I was lucky enough to be part of the fifteen percent of the entire Earth’s population who were born with it – painfully ringing in my ears through the silence. My heart pounded in my chest as the footsteps came closer. I could see nothing through the slowly gathering darkness except the other identical side of the uninteresting cul-de-sac. I tried to hear where the person – no, not one, but two people – were coming, but I could not.

I was just about to go inside to an adult when two men in their early thirties erupted from the street and frantically looked around. The first man was shorter than the other and he had sharp, attractive features and was very bow-legged. His hair was short and dirty blonde. He was wearing baggy jeans and a dark leather jacket. His companion was the equivalent of a human moose and had long dark hair framing his round, boyish face. He wore a similar plaid shirt to his companion and a dark jacket. They were both panting as if they ran a long way and appeared to be looking for something – or someone.  
Then the tall one spotted me.  
He clasped his partner on his shoulder and pointed towards me. My heart shot up into my throat. They were running towards me now. I stood up and took a step back, my heel jutted against the stair. I knew I should go inside and tell someone, but I was rooted to the spot, as if the ice in my blood had frozen me there. I clenched my hands into my fists until my nails dug into my skin. When they reached me I grabbed the railing and took a step back, my eyes wide in terror. I started to turn towards the door, but the tall one grabbed my arm. I looked back and struggled against his grip, but his hand was like iron. The shorter one turned and kept an eye on the street, while the taller one had his other hand out as if to comfort me, but it made me recoil. There was no chance of an escape now. And even if I did come free of the tall one’s grip, I could not run past the shorter one without him catching me.  
“You need to come with us,” the tall one said, his voice was deep and urgent, “you are in danger.”  
“What?” I croaked, my heart still lodged in my throat. “No! I don’t know you!” I struggled in his grip, although I was losing confidence, and I felt like I was going to faint. They were going to kidnap me. And then what would they do with me? Rape me? Sell me? Worse?  
The shorter one pursed his lips and looked at me. Then he turned to his partner. “Are you sure she’s the one?” he asked. The one?  
“She fits Cas’s description.” He replied. “This definitely is the girl we are supposed to find.”  
Cas? What a strange name. “Look, I don’t know a ‘Cas,’ and I don’t know you!” I said, taking another step behind me. The tall man let go of me, and I thudded against the railing, rubbing my arm. His hand was on the door. I was still trapped.  
“Okay, then,” he said, “my name is Sam Winchester, and this,” he said, gesturing to the shorter man, “is my brother, Dean. And you are Maria Webber.”  
My mouth hung open a fraction before I said, “How the hell do you know my name?”  
Just then a scream echoed around the cul-de-sac, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Sam and Dean glanced behind them and reached into their jackets. Dean had now taken a blade out from his jacket about the size of a small dog or large cat. He turned to me. “Look,” he said, “we’ll explain everything to you later, but you really have to come with us now or you will die.” He turned back to the street.  
“Yeah,” I said, shaking, “so you can kill me?” the ringing in my head was growing louder, my heartbeat faster. I was going to die, and nobody would know what happened to me. On my grave they would write "Maria Webber. 1997-2014. I dunno, she just died."  
I heard the sound of rustling feathers. “No,” said a deep voice from behind me, “we are not going to hurt you, we are here to save you.” My tinnitus shot through my brain and I clasped my hands over my ears. It took me a second to realize that a soft moaning sound was coming from my own throat. I slowly turned to see a dark-haired man in a tan long coat and loose tie holding his hand out to me. I stumbled backwards, surprised by his sudden appearance. How did he get back there? The only way to get onto the porch is the steps, and I was blocking them. And why did he affect my tinnitus so much?  
“Who are you?” I said, stumbling backwards. “And how did you get here?” Another scream rang out, and I started to tremble slightly, taking my hands away from my ears, but the ringing didn't soften at all.  
“You need to take hold of my hand and I will bring you to safety.” I was getting ready to sprint for my life, away from these strange men when I heard a noise from behind me. I turned to see a dark-haired woman in black clothing standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Her eyes… it must have been a trick of the light, because for a moment, they almost seemed… black.  
“Dammit,” Dean muttered as the woman charged toward us, laughing hysterically. Dean took from his jacket a jagged knife. I gasped as he thrust it into the woman’s stomach. A strange, orange electricity coursed through her struggling body, until she was limp. She was dead. I had witnessed a murder.  
This was some week.  
My hand was still over my mouth as Sam grasped my shoulder, and I flinched. “They are coming for you. We have to get you out of here.”  
“What kind of people would want to kill me?” I asked softly, my hand still over my mouth, and I’m surprised Sam heard me.  
“Those aren’t people.”  
I took my hand away and looked up at Sam, who had concern clouding his rain-cloud blue eyes. “What the hell do you mean ‘not people’? What are they? Why do they want to kill me? I'm just a-”  
“More will be coming,” interrupted the man behind me, and I turned back around to face him, “we must go now.”  
“No! Screw you if you think that I'll jump into a car with three strangers who just murdered a woman!” I heard another noise and two men with black eyes appeared in the cul-de-sac. Sam and Dean grabbed their weapons. Dean charged at them, and they sprinted towards him. Sam addressed the man behind me.  
“Cas,” he said (so this must be the Cas who knows me. How does he know me?), “You need to take Maria and bring her to the motel. We’ll catch up.” Then he turned to me. “You have to hold on to Cas and not let go. He will take you to where we are staying, and these guys won’t be able to hurt you.” He let go of my shoulder, and his eyes were soft with concern. I felt slightly comforted. But only slightly, because these guys still just killed somebody.  
Two more people with black eyes appeared, and Sam joined the fight. I turned to the man – Cas. “Fine,” I said, gingerly reaching for his outstretched hand and pushing my glasses higher up on my nose, “I’ll go with you.”  
“Good.” Cas said, and he grasped my hand. His hand was firm and warm, and my tinnitus became louder for a second, but I shook my head and it was back to its normal annoying volume. Cas closed his eyes and looked like he was in pain.  
“Are you okay?” I asked, the noises of the fight behind me, terrifying me. Sam and Dean terrified me, and now I was holding the hand of some strange man I had only just met who claimed to be taking me to safety.  
How did the people at the party not notice any of this?  
“I’m blocked.” Cas replied.  
“Blocked?” I said, “What do you—”  
“We are going to need to run.” He said, opening his eyes. “So, run.”  
And we ran.  
Cas ran much faster than I did. I could barely keep up as he led me through twisting backyards and allies, muttering softly to himself as we swept through the neighborhood. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it over the ringing in my ears. I was afraid I would slip out of Cas’s grasp, but he held me firmly. He didn’t even sweat, although I was soon a hot, wet mess, as unfit as I was. I didn’t even take gym class in school, my tinnitus kept me from that. I guess it was good for something.  
I did not recognize anything, sprinting along the winding streets, but then I couldn’t see much anyway. The darkness soon blanketed us, and I could barely see Cas running ahead of me in the dim streetlamps. I could barely keep going. When we had been running for I don’t know how long, I stumbled and fell, scraping my hands and knees and falling on my face. My nose and forehead stung, and I could feel hot, sticky blood seeping onto my eyebrows. Cas stopped and kneeled beside me, never letting go of my hand. I was panting like a dog, but Cas didn’t even look tired.  
“You are hurt.” He said, his eyes narrowed in concern.  
I spat blood off of my lips. “Yeah, my face is kind of bleeding.” Cas put two fingers on my forehead, and I flinched. Nothing happened. He furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his fingers in a little harder. Then he took them away. What?  
“It’s not working.” He said. He stood up, pulling me up with him. My legs were like jelly, and I wobbled quite a bit. Cas put his other hand on my shoulder. “We must keep going.” He said. I looked up at him. “We are almost there.” We heard more footsteps, and Cas immediately pushed me behind him, pulling out a knife of his own from inside his long coat. Where did it come from? Was he hiding it in his sleeve or something? Sam and Dean came out from behind a minivan Cas and I had run around a moment ago, and they were bloody, still clutching their knives. They were panting as much as I was. Once the two spotted my bloodied figure, they rushed towards us. Cas let out a long sigh of relief at the sight of them. I just was relieved I still had Cas to lean against.  
“Cas,” Dean said, looking me up and down, analyzing the damage, “can’t you do the healing thing?”  
“No,” Cas said, gently pushing me forward, “I am powerless here.”  
“Great.” Dean said throwing his hands in the air. “Dozens of demons after us and we have a wingless angel to carry around.”  
Dean and Cas continued to argue as Sam stepped towards me. Angel? I was too tired to really care about their craziness right then. Sam kneeled and examined my injuries. “Can you walk? You’re bleeding a lot.”  
I nodded and took a step forward, but immediately regretted it for I hobbled and fell into Sam’s shoulder. My mind was clouding over, and I felt faint.  
“No,” Sam said, scooping me up into his arms, “you can’t.” I gasped as his strong arms jostled me like I weighed nothing. I felt ridiculous, being carried like a child but, then again, I wasn’t sure how much farther I could go. The last thing I remembered was bouncing in Sam's arms as he ran, but then the ringing took over and I fell into an unsteady unconscious.


End file.
